Before It's Too Late
by TheMacUnleashed
Summary: A mysterious stranger treads on thin ice to offer Obi-Wan advice on his relationship with Siri. Slight Siriwan; Star Wars/Doctor Who crossover.


**A/n: This was first written for the Obi/Siri challenge over at boards . theforce . net. If you haven't seen at least until the start of the third season of Doctor Who, there are some vague spoilers here. **

Siri looked around the small village. "Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be?"

Obi-Wan nodded without looking at her. "Yes. This is it: Riftan 5. A good place for training activities, allegedly." A drop of purple-colored rain fell.

His blonde companion cleared her throat slightly. "It's a bit… stormy."

Obi-Wan's initial response was drowned out by a huge crack of thunder. "What'd you say?"

"Then maybe we should go inside!"

He could have sworn she was grinning, despite the torrid downpour. "A sensational idea, Master Kenobi!" Together, they hurried into a dimly-lit café, its 'Open' sign barely visible.

Sitting down on a pair of well worn seats, the female Jedi glanced up towards a counter where droids were passing out drinks to several dozen beings of various species. They looked to be moving as fast as they could, but even that wasn't very speedy, as they looked to be nearly a decade outdated.

Siri shrugged off the damp brown cloak she had been wearing, and Obi-Wan watched her enviously. She was lucky: The war hadn't over-glorified her image, and she could still go on anonymous missions with only a fake ID. He was forced to don a cloak always when in the Outer Rim, unless he wanted to spend costly time applying synthflesh and other costly products daily. Really, a simple cloak to shield one's face was much easier, but it certainly wasn't the most comfortable thing after being outside on such a damp planet.

"I'm going to go grab a drink. Do you want anything?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "But thanks." He watched her walk to the busy counter, admiring the feminine swing of her hips.

He shook his head, mentally chastising himself for the thoughts. Every time he was alone with her no matter what it was –Sometimes, it was something as unromantic as sparring together!– he was brought back to his days as a Padawan, and their brief romance. Now, he even remembered the negative feelings of breaking up as positive, understanding that he had needed to learn an important lesson in his youth.

At least, that was what the Jedi Master _thought_ he knew. Really, it was when those memories came that he had the most doubts about the actions he had had to take well over a decade ago. What if they had continued seeing each other? He couldn't deny that he had no idea of her place in his life: It was stronger than a mere friendship, yet nowhere near the sibling-like bond he had with Anakin, and it certainly wasn't the teacher/student relationship he felt when near Master Yoda! No, the blonde Jedi was held in a unique position within his life, and perhaps one he was somewhat scared to clarify. After all, what if he learned that he still felt something forbidden for her? All he believed would… Would it change? Or deep inside, did he…

Obi-Wan didn't like where this was going. As un-Jedi-like as it was, now was not the time to confront his demons.

He turned to look outside, at the rain-blurred landscape. He had been surprised that he had been selected for this relatively simple mission: He had been sent here with Siri to simply gather intelligence here: Did there seem to be a strong sympathy movement for the Separatists? What were the local's reactions to the war; were they afraid of it affecting their small, out-of-the-way planet? And, most importantly, could the Republic set up a hidden training base for the Clones there? The planet's weather varied day-to-day, sometimes hour-to-hour. In only a standard month, the Clones that were in training probably would have experienced a lifetime of climates.

Somebody that was decidedly _not_ Siri sat down across from him. At first glance, the offender was a human male, probably a smuggler stopping by the planet to pick up a load of the black-market spice mined there. He wore a nondescript suit, with tousled brown hair and no beard, a description that probably matched thousands of beings across the galaxy.

A second glance –Nay, a Force-probe- revealed him to be… not so average. Instead, he was something else entirely. Obi-Wan couldn't even discern what species he was, or if he was Force-sensitive.

The only thing he could tell was that this man was unique. The ginger haired Jedi had never seen anything like him, and he felt that without a doubt, he could travel all over the stars and never lay eyes on one like him again.

While he was still in a sort of shock from what he had just learned, the man extended a pale hand. "Master Kenobi!" Although the excitement was clear in his voice, it was still low, as if he understood this to be an undercover mission. "Ah, who'd think this'd be my first time meeting a Jedi? Nine-hundred years, and seen too many faces to remember! Gandhi, Queen Elizabeth, William Shakespeare… anyhow, I must be nearly as old as Master Yoda! 'Course, I doubt I'll ever meet _him_. Oh, but that doesn't mean you're second or anything! Obi-Wan Kenobi! The Negotiator! Flyin' away to distant planets with your lightsaber, but it's only with you as a precaution! Your words are your _real _weapons-"

Obi-Wan got the idea that the man would have babbled on longer had he not interrupted. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about." Unconsciously, he tugged his hood further down.

The man waved his hand. "Course you do! You don't need to pretend with me, Master Kenobi. Can I call you Obi-Wan? I think I will. Don't worry, Obi-Wan. I'm not a Separatist. Well, I'm technically not a Republican, either, but I like you guys a lot better. Really, I'm just in here while my ship is cleaned."

He nodded to what looked like a large, dark-colored box, its rectangular silhouette just visible against the rainy background of Riftan 5. "Here, you can get it done for free in a matter of minutes! Always the chance it'll start hailing or something, but when the stains on the outside are as bad as mine are, you take that risk."

The Jedi wasn't really sure what to say, so he just gave an awkward nod. "I don't think I caught your name, Mr.-?"

The humanoid gave a small laugh. "Doctor. Just Doctor."

The blue-eyed Jedi Master nodded slightly, recognizing the ancient word for 'healer'. "And who exactly are you?"

The man –the Doctor- shrugged slightly. "Ah, nobody important. Just a traveler. Flyin' the stars, in my tiny blue box." Again, he lifted a shoulder. "You might call me an assistant to the Republic. I just go where I feel I'm needed."

Wanting to get as much information as possible, Obi-Wan asked "And where might that be?"

"Oh, wherever my instinct says to go. Donna usually helps me with that decision, too." He smiled and tilted his chin to a red-haired woman who was gawking at her surroundings, as if a simple café was worth so much notice. "'Course if it were up to her we'd just go to the most glamorous shops in the galaxy and never meet or help anyone, but still. She's learning. But enough about _me_, Obi-Wan! Why are _you_ here?"

It was his turn to raise a shoulder in vague response. "Just business." Thinking it wise to make sure the man knew what the consequences of attacking him were (He didn't _sense_ hostility, but figured it best to play it safe) he added "With a friend."

Unconsciously, his eyes strayed to his blonde colleague, who was offering her place in the lengthy line to a blue-skinned Twi'lek carrying a small youngling. He sighed, a perplexing wave of longing overcoming him. The kind deed was the very essence of Siri: Although she could be feisty, her heart was as golden as her hair.

For a strange moment, Obi-Wan felt himself longing for his Padawan days. He'd never been the carefree, thoughtless type that had seen his childhood as the one time he had to be free –A Jedi must be constantly in-service, with no account for age- but he had had a Master to guide him back then. Not someone to make all his decisions, of course –Qui-Gon's teaching would have been meaningless, if so- but someone to help him organize his twisting labyrinth of thoughts. Someone to tell him what his feelings meant, and to give him nonjudgmental advice about the possible results of his actions.

"You love her, don't you?"

Surprised at the Doctor's words, Obi-Wan's response was instinctive. "Jedi don't love."

The brown-haired man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but that's just a rule. We're both human –Well, not _technically_, but you get the meaning. You can't purge yourself of love. Heck, you can't purge yourself of any emotion! Suffering, desire… even hate, and the longing for vengeance. I've nine hundred years on me, and I haven't yet."

Suppressing his desire to comment on the man's alleged age, Obi-Wan replied "You don't have the Force, or, I suspect, the proper training." The words came out sharper than he had intended, and he regretted it for more than one reason: Firstly because they had been meant simply as an observation, and second –Perhaps the stronger of the two reasons- because it made him sound hypocritical, unable to rein in even the tone of his voice.

The Doctor smiled slightly. "Point conceded, Obi-Wan. Just take a little bit of advice, would you? Tell her that." As the Jedi opened his mouth to protest, the man held up his hand, requesting silence. "I've been through the whole blonde-companion-it's-only-a-friendship thing. And it's _not_ just a friendship. Like I said before, after nine hundred years, you can start to sense those things." For a moment, something in his eyes made the Jedi Master believe that the Doctor really _was _as old as he claimed to be.

"Obi-Wan, I _know_. This has happened to me before, and I swear, I'd go back in time and give myself this advice, if it wouldn't cause a paradox, and all that. Just tell her that you love her, 'cause soon it'll be too late." He shook his head sadly.

The ginger-haired man frowned, pondering a response. Before he had one completely formulated, however, the red-haired woman that the Doctor had pointed out to him appeared. "Doctor, the drinks are ready." Her eyes widened in shock as she looked at Obi-Wan. "Oh, my God! Is that-?"

The Doctor gave a slight smile, although his melancholy mood was still obvious. "Yes, Donna. It is." He glanced outside, where a vibrantly-colored sunset was forming where rain had been just minutes before. "TARDIS looks clean! Good thing we got here when we did; I've heard that Chula spit can leave permanent damage. Want to go take the drinks in there? The two suns of Pilton X will be exploding soon, and that's really a sight!"

The woman –Donna, he supposed- gave an eager nod, and quickly moved to go to the ship.

Wanting to distract the Doctor from the taboo subject he had spoken of earlier, Obi-Wan said "Your ship's a bit small."

"It's bigger on the inside." The Doctor stood up. "Listen Obi-Wan… It wasn't my place to tell you that. I mean, you're a Jedi, I'm just… the Doctor. But well, just take the advice. I can't tell you why, but just do… before it's too late." He walked off, not allowing the time for a response to his parting words.

Still pondering their cryptic meaning, the Jedi didn't notice when Siri sat down again, with two steaming mugs of caocoa with her. She pushed one before him, and then lifted her own to her lips.

"Who was that man?"

Staring into the dark liquid, the ginger-haired man murmured, "I'm not sure. Just a traveler. Siri, you didn't need to get me anything."

She rolled her eyes. "You always mean the opposite of what you say."

He smiled slightly. "Yeah… Siri, did I ever tell you…" He hesitated, not sure what to say.

She cocked her head, blonde hair spilling to the left. "Yes?"

Who was he fooling? He was a Jedi, to put his emotions into words went against everything he had been taught.

Everything he _knew_.

"Thanks for the caocoa."


End file.
